Her dress showed
signs of poverty, but it was scrupulously clean and neat. As it grew
later, she seemed to be listening attentively for the approach of
some one; she was ready to start up every time a step came near her
door. At length a light step approached, and did not go by it; it
stopped, and there was a gentle tap at the door. Mary's pallid face
brightened, and in a moment she had let in a fine,
intelligent-looking lad, about thirteen years of age, whom she
welcomed with evident delight.
"You are later than usual to-night, Stephen," she said.
Stephen did not reply; but he threw off his cap, and placed himself
in the seat Mary had quitted.
"You do not look well to-night, dear," said Mary anxiously; "is
anything the matter?"
"I am quite well, mother," replied the boy. "Let me have my supper.
I am quite ready for it."
As he spoke, he turned away his eyes from Mary's inquiring look.
Mary, without another word, set herself about preparing the supper,
of oatmeal porridge. She saw that something was wrong with Stephen,
and that he did not wish to be questioned, so she remained silent.
In the mean time Stephen had placed his feet on the fender, rested
his elbows on his knees, and his head on his hands.
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